


You're Back

by frubeto



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Gen, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frubeto/pseuds/frubeto
Summary: Some unrelated scenes of life after the mountain, where Jaskier and Yennefer started to travel together.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	You're Back

**Author's Note:**

> cw mention of abuse and attempted suicide, but its not majorly plot relevant

“You’re back.”

Her surprised tone made him stop in the doorway. What, did she expect him to get murdered in broad daylight? He held on to the wall for dramatic effect – nothing to do with the residual dizziness throwing him off balance, nuh-huh – and hummed.

  
“There comes a point in a human body where it just has nothing left to throw up,” he explained. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

And with that he pushed himself off to stagger over to the chair in the corner, hoping he hadn’t misjudged the distance.

“First instinct was to just roll over the edge of the bed and be done with it.”

Reaching the chair was a small victory, and holding onto the back of it, he managed to carefully lower himself to sit, sighing in relief when his head fell back against the wall and he could close his eyes again.

But the tingling sensation of a purple glare directed at him made him feel like he had missed something, and he forced himself to look up. Oh.

“Oh, you meant-”

Not back a s in  _you’re still alive,_ but back as in  _what the hell are you still doing here._

“I thought we decided last night that it was only logical we travel together from here on out.”

Yennefer scoffed.

“I’m surprised you remember anything about last night.”

“I remember the important bits,” he insisted. “I was drunk. You were drunk. We fell into bed together. The usual.”

She turned sharply.

“We did _not-”_

He snorted. If he’d been in any better condition he might have been more hurt by her offended gape, but he knew it wasn’t what had happened – at least not metaphorically, they  _did_ very much end up in the same bed – and waved a hand to tell her as much.

And apparently satisfied, she went on with her business, leaving him to his, which was mostly breathing, and moving as little as possible, while he followed her movement around the room lazily as she packed her things, all elegance, as always, ready to move on.

“ _How_ are you not hungover.”

It should have been obvious, really, yet his muddled brain took a few moments to get there when being stared at with a raised eyebrow.

“Right. Magic.” He groaned. “Can’t you-” he flopped a hand around himself- “magic me better, too?”

She only smirked.

“Oh wherever to start.”

“Fuck you.”

His doublet landed in his face.

“Pack up, we need to get going, I have places to be. If you’re only going to slow me down, I’m leaving without you.”

He whined, vaguely reminded of the last twenty years of his life.

“You sound like Geralt.”

“And if you’re going to insult me, I can do worse things than leave you.”

He huffed a laugh.

*

“I’m back!” Yennefer called when there was no acknowledgement of her return.

Still, silence.

Suspicious, she poked her head into the adjoining rooms, expecting to find the bard either asleep over his compositions, or daydreaming, or missing, even though she had told him to stay, but ended up spotting him in the bedroom, curled up, alone.

“Bard?”

He jumped.

“Yeah!” he answered, weirdly out of tune, and then again, quieter, “Yeah.”

He forced himself up, wiped at his cheeks, and took an unsteady breath.

“You got everything you needed?”

She did, but there seemed more pressing matters now. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s-”

He waved her off as he pushed past her into the main room.

“Don’t worry.”

“I don’t.”

And so she dumped her bag onto a nearby table and while sorting her own purchases, fished out the honey she knew he’d been looking for in the last town and blindly held it out. 

It earned her a small “Thanks.” as he took it, and as she reached into his mind she sensed the genuine gratitude, but it was overshadowed by hurt, the burning in his eyes, pressure in his throat, and a whole whirlwind of other things that made little sense to her. It happened more and more often now that they were travelling together, the bard making no sense inside and out, and it annoyed her to no end. Especially when he wasn’t being honest to her.

“So we got everything?” he piped up again, “We can get going?”

Oh, what, now he was eager to leave? She frowned, and now did turn around to look at him. Not long ago, he’d been begging her to stay longer, explore the area – and possibly the people, play a few more evenings. And now this?

Jaskier must have realised she’d noticed his change of heart, and immediately his eyes went to the floor, eyebrows scrunched together, swallowing hard as fresh tears started rolling down his face. She stared.

“What _happened?”_

A dangerous wobble of his lower lip. Oh no. If she was going to have a wailing bard on her hands...  _fuck,_ was she unprepared for that. What would she even-? But then it was over as fast as it had started, and he sighed.

“Nothing.”

He wiped the tears away again, but there was no mistaking her expression for convinced.

“It’s stupid,” he insisted. 

“Just-” 

He sniffled,  _wetly,_ and it took all of Yennefer’s willpower not to grimace.

“Something some guy said. It…” 

_Ah._

“It hit home.”

She hummed. She knew the kind. Always managing to say exactly the one thing you didn’t want to hear. Maybe if she went down there right now she could even find him in the crowd. Maybe someone needed to be taught a lesson about being respectful towards the people you’re paying for their services. Maybe-

Jaskier interrupted her with a smile, shaking his head as if having read her thoughts.

“I’ll be fine. I just need a moment.”

And with a vague gesture to his face – already wet again - he flopped down on the settee. What did that arse even say to get that kind of reaction? Usually she saw the bard easily deal with any kind of verbal attacks with big words and bigger attitude.

“He didn’t like the new song?” she ventured.

Another disgusting sound she didn’t care to know the origins of told her she was right even before the affirmative hum. It still didn’t make sense.

“Neither do I,” she said, and okay, maybe it wasn’t the most sensitive, and she almost felt sorry for the wince it produced, but her point was, “I didn’t see you shed any tears about that.”

“You’re different.”

Ah, right. Her opinion didn’t matter to him as much as some random guy in a backwater town. She supposed it was a learned reflex with him, otherwise how had be survived all those years with Geralt as his greatest critic?

“You don’t like me for my music.”

Hm. Or, that.

Though she was tempted to ask what he thought she like him for instead, she figured it wouldn’t be beneficial to the situation.

She took a careful step forward, out of her element.

“Do you… need anything?”

He shook his head. Okay.

“We’re leaving in the morning.”

“Thank you.” 

*

“You’re back!”

The bard practically jumped up at her like a puppy. She narrowed her eyes.

  
“Am I early?”

She tried to get a glimpse of the room around him, what – or who – he was hiding, but there was nothing, and Jaskier only shook his head in confusion.

“No? Well, you didn’t tell me how long you would be gone, so you can’t really be early or late anyway, I guess. If anything you’re probably mostly back when I expected you to be.”

Hm.

“Worried, then? That I wouldn’t be able to defend myself against a few stray bandits?”

“No!”

And that was correct. They had very quickly realised what a bad target she made. Had given way to her almost as fast as the bard did now as she pushed past his still fidgety form to put down her things.

“Then why the dramatics.”

“Wasn’t sure you weren’t trying to get rid of me,” he admitted with a shrug and a nervous smile. Like that was a thing that just happened.

“I told you I’d be back.”

“Yes, you see, it only takes one time where you won’t, and you could probably manage not to ever see me again.”

What was he  _on_ about?

“Bard, I don’t have to lie to you to get rid of you. I can just tell you to piss off and portal away.”

He flinched.

“Right. Yes. Of course.”

No, that was  _not_ what she was saying. Godsdammit.

“My point being I would _tell you_ when I wanted you gone.”

He nodded, but she doubted he had actually gotten the message. She sighed, shaking her head.

“Fuck, Geralt really did a number on you, huh?”

“Oh, he was by far neither the first nor the last to get fed up with me and try to ditch me. I’m not sure he ever even warmed to me. I tend to talk a lot, I don’t know if you’ve noticed. I’m annoying. People leave. That’s just how it goes.”

There was a pause, and she must have looked at him with pity, because next thing she knew he shook himself and got up, most of the melancholy mood evaporated.

“Can you just tell me, next time? How long you expect to be gone?”

She nodded. 

*

“Your back…”

Jaskier tensed. Honestly, he’d been expecting this, ever since Yennefer had barged in on his bath inappropriately, to rant about the quality of some herbs he’d never heard of, and the incapability of their seller. And it helped that they were already well into their second bottle of wine. But that didn’t mean he was in any way prepared for it.

“… what happened?”

He forcibly relaxed his fingers around his wine cup.

“Took you all your willpower to wait a full two days with it, huh?”

“I know the scars when I see them.”

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why. Couldn’t imagine her inflicting that kind of pain on anyone – not because it would be too harsh, gods forbid, but because she had better methods. What was the best whip to magic?

“Rough childhood?” he settled on.

She smiled in response, in that icy way that used to mean he was seconds away from certain death, and he realised he probably knew nothing more about her background than she did about his.

“Rougher than yours.”

Ah. Was that really what she thought of him? The spoilt noble brat who grew up with nothing to want for? After everything?

He took a deep breath. Oh, it was  _on._

“I tried to kill myself when I was 14,” he said, just drunk enough to make it sound casual.

But it backfired dramatically when Yennefer only turned her hand to let him see the scars on her wrists and said,

“Who didn’t.”

And then sipped her wine.

He frowned.

“My father disowned me before I was even old enough to understand.”

“My father sold me to Aretuza for four marks.”

Hah.

“My father would have sold me for less if it hadn’t caused a political scandal.”

“First man I ever fell in love with sold me out to the chapter and almost cost me my place at court.”

“What a dick.”

Yennefer smirked, and he raised his cup in a toast.

“First guy I ever fell in love with stole my heart and then my songs and is now my rival at every major bardic competition.”

She huffed a laugh, and clinked their glasses, and they downed the rest of their drinks.

“Who wants to be at court, anyway,” Jaskier added. “A bunch of greedy arseholes and rapists, the lot of them, and then you’re supposed to sing all their problems away.”

“Cheers to that,” Yennefer agreed, and filled their cups again.

And the evening progressed, wine flowed, and Jaskier relaxed more than he had in a whole while.

“I watched my own birthday party though the keyhole of a locked closet,” he was saying, “which also happens to be my-”

“Your bedroom,” Yennefer finished with a smile. “Lucky. I slept outside with the pigs.”

“You had pigs! I didn’t even know anything beside human adults. Imagine what my personality could’ve been like if my education had featured anything more joyful than courtly manners and swordsmanship.”

She snorted.

“Right. You. Manners.”

“Yeah, didn’t say I succeeded in trying. That’s what the scars are for.”

It fell silent between them after that, and for the sake of conversation, and to sate his own curiosity, he went out on a limb and blurted,

“What happened to you?”

accompanied by an undignified fingerpointing handwaving motion to her midsection, that he blamed entirely on the wine. It might end the night early right there if Yennefer decided he’d crossed a line, but apparently she was feeling generous, and indulged him.

“Aretuza demands it off all mages. So our loyalty belongs to none but them.”  
  


Jaskier scoffed.

“What a load of crap.”  
  


“I don’t need your pity, bard.”

“No, I mean, _what a load of crap,”_ he elaborated intelligently, still searching for the right words. “Is their understanding of loyalty really that narrow? Either they’re idiots or this isn’t about loyalty. You don’t need a child for that. What about friends? True love? A chosen family? We’ve only been travelling together for a few months but I _know_ deep down you love me like the brother you never had.”

He held a hand over his heart dramatically and grinned when he saw her roll her eyes. He knew he was rambling, but he was in too deep now to stop.

“Oh, adoption!” he cried. “Take one of those strays off the streets. Fuck, go around and claim the law of surprise like Geralt did. Might work out just as well,” he added. “Family doesn’t end in blood. Loyalty certainly doesn’t. So the only thing they achieved, really, is to piss you off. Which, in my experience, is never a good idea.”

He picked his cup up to stop himself from talking, but found it empty at his lips – when did that happen? – and saw Yennefer smiling weakly at him over the rim, and he never could tell if it was genuine or a silent  _‘fuck you’._ But then she took a big gulp of her own wine and her voice was calm when she spoke.

“Did Geralt ever tell you about Stregobor?”

*

“Oh thank the gods you’re back.”

Yennefer blinked awake, trying to get her bearings. She was lying down, on something soft, and warm. A bed? She didn’t remember getting into any beds.

The voice had come from somewhere above her head, so after another moment she carefully pushed herself up on her elbow as far as she could and found herself looking straight into the worried blue eyes of… the bard, of all people?! Who seemed to sag in relief at her movement.

“I thought I was going to have to deal with your dead body.”

Urgh.

Unable to hold herself up any longer she let herself drop back to her previous position, which was, apparently, lying half on top of him, nestled into his left arm.

_What the-?_

“Why are we cuddling like one of those disgustingly happy couples?” 

The events of the night were slowly coming back to her. Sodden. The fight. Finding Jaskier. But after that… a blur. Jaskier shifted.

“Oh, you told me to stay last night, and there wasn’t enough room to- I can leave, if you’d rather?”

His right hand was gesturing to the door, and the rest of his body was moving now as well, making her wince.

“Actually, come to think of it, I do kind of need to pee-”

Her arm was wrapped around his middle to stop him before he’d even finished the sentence. She was not prepared to be left alone, she found, or to be jostled any further in the process. And if he was offering the excuse of making him uncomfortable, she’d take it.

Jaskier groaned. But stayed.

She used the time to take in her surroundings. They were in some nondescript inn, probably in the middle of nowhere, his things like always strewn around everywhere. The sun, already high in the sky, illuminating the chaos: His lute, not even in its case, parchment across every surface, quill rolled under the desk, doublet thrown down next to the door, the rest of his clothes – suspiciously missing. 

And then her brain made the connection to the soft fabric under her cheek. Ah. She appreciated the decency, after all she knew, unfortunately. How he preferred to sleep in less. But he was still dressed in one of his thin shirts and smallclothes. And to her surprise she realised that she was, too.

“How did you get me out of that?”

Her dress was laid out over a nearby chair, no less intact than when she’d last seen it, as if he’d thought she might be able to save it. It was far from the most simple to get out of, much less if she was unconscious, so how had he-?

She felt more than heard his offended huff.

“I have worn a dress before, you know.”

Hm.

“It didn’t look very comfortable,” he added.

“No worse than the stab wound.”

At that the hand around her back tightened, and she almost groaned. If only she hadn’t said anything. Now he was gearing up to ask all the annoying questions she couldn’t answer yesterday. What the fuck happened? Are you okay? Who did this?

“Do we need to move?”

Oh. Well, that, at least, was a sensible one.

“We should,” she answered, and closed her eyes again. “But I don’t think I can portal us anywhere at the moment.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She’d expected him to be more mad, being roped into shit like this, but then Geralt had always said he had no instinct of self-preservation.

  
“I’m not short on coin. We can stay here until you can at least walk.”

“Hm.”

With that settled, her exhaustion started to catch up with her again, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest as she drifted back to sleep, until –

“I wasn’t joking about needing to pee, by the way.”

*

“You’re back?” Yennefer asked as he closed the door behind him. 

She had probably expected his set to last longer, and it would have been, usually, the crowd was great and he could’ve continued collecting their coin for quite a while, but he wasn’t in the mood today.

“For there is no better company than yours tonight, my dear,” he exclaimed, and smiled at the expected eyeroll he received through the mirror she was using to wash her makeup off.

Putting away his lute and slipping out of his doublet, he didn’t notice her approaching until he was pulling open the laces of his shirt and felt a hand at his shoulder. He spun around.

“Ah. Are you done with the water?” he asked for anything better to say as the hand went to his chest, joined there by another. “I’m all sweaty. The sun has been gone for hours and yet it’s still hot as the devil’s balls-”

He was cut off when instead of answering she tilted her head up, got on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

_What?!_

His arms flailed out at his sides but otherwise his body was frozen in place until she pulled away again and looked up at him, considering.

“Umm,” he said intelligently.

“That was weird.”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

And for some godsforsaken reason she decided it was totally acceptable to leave it at that. Turned back to her chair.

Oh no.

“Oh no, no no no. You don’t get to do that and walk away. What was that about?”

She shrugged.

“I wanted to see what would happen.”

What kind of excuse was that?

“Well what does usually happen when you just randomly kiss a guy?!”

He didn’t expect her to look at him as if he was being particularly stupid again.

“Sex.”

Ah.

“Right...”

He stood for a moment, dumbfounded, and let her roam around to do whatever it was she was doing. Then he shook himself.

“Well, sorry.”

“It’s a shame, really,” she mused, starting to free her hair from the updo it was in. “You and me, imagine the fun we could have in bed.”

He snorted. She wasn’t wrong. Certainly more fun than with Geralt ‘I-only-know-one-position-to-please-a-woman’ of Rivia.

  
“Yeah,” he said, “but you’re-”

He paused for a second, searching for the right word, but when he took to long she took it onto herself to fill in the blanks.

“The wicked witch of the west,” she offered, sharply.

“No. Oh but that’s good, actually, I could-”

There was a song in there, he was sure. The possibilities fluttered through his head like sparrows, like they always did when inspiration struck, distracting him, until one look from Yennefer brought him back on track. This was more important.

“I meant to say you’re… more like another sister to me now? A terrifying and magical sister, but a sister nonetheless.”

When she didn’t show any reaction, he stepped forward to carefully lean on the door frame.

“I love you,” he said, and didn’t even need to try to make it sound like the most obvious thing in the world.

“Just like we are now. Whatever it is. I want-”

He gestured around them in an increasingly desperate attempt to explain.

“-this. Us. Getting wine-drunk on warm summer evenings. Late nights in the tavern bitching about the arseholes of this world. I want to take care of you when you collapse on my doorstep and-” he took her thinned lips to mean ‘that was _one_ time’ but ignored it with a smirk.

“And I want you to take care of me when I’ve been chased out of a second floor window. And I want to write songs about your greatness – because who wouldn’t, let’s be honest – and there’s _so much more_ on my to do list, but if-”

He broke off and gathered his hands in front of him as a wave of anxiety washed through his body. Yennefer still looked at him expressionless. Was she- Did she want something else? Was this him, rejecting her? Was this her, leaving?

“If that’s not enough for you, then I- I’m sorry.”

Yennefer shook her head. And for a torturous second, it was silent. Then,

“Relax, bard.” She smiled. “It was weird. We’re good.”

He huffed a sigh in relief and shook himself until the pent up energy dissipated.

“Alright. Okay. Good.”

He nodded to himself.

  
“Now,” he continued, proud of how quickly he’d caught himself, “I need you to promise me one thing.”

Yennefer only raised a questioning eyebrow, and he raised a shaky index finger accusingly.

“Do not try to kiss me like that ever again.”

She smirked.

“I’ll do my best to try and hold myself back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on [tumblr](http://frubeto.tumblr.com).


End file.
